


Sehnsucht

by wilderswans



Series: Widomauk 30 Day NSFW Challenge [4]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 18:56:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15274092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilderswans/pseuds/wilderswans
Summary: Caleb awakes just as fully and suddenly as if someone had overturned a bucket of cold water on his head.(Day 4 of the 30 Day NSFW OTP challenge: Masturbation)





	Sehnsucht

**Author's Note:**

> Tonight's episode has me Sad so I figured, what the hell, might as well get sadder. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> This one takes place long before the first three in this series, for Maximum Angst .
> 
> Y'all I'm blown away by the comments I've been getting, and I'm so incredibly grateful to each and every one of you who's taken the time to read this nonsense. ilu ♥
> 
> (Tomorrow's installment is still not finished, and I still have papers to write, so again I apologize for delays in updates. I will try to get Day 5 up as soon as possible!)

Caleb awakes just as fully and suddenly as if someone had overturned a bucket of cold water on his head. A gasp dies in his dry throat, sweat beads on his temples. Nervously he looks around the room for Nott, only to find that the rest of the bed is empty, the window left unlocked on the inside so she could find her way back in - just as they left it when they went to bed, when Nott had stared up at him with her wide lampflame eyes and a pleading expression and said, “I’ve got the _itch_.” Outside the sky’s a bleak pre-dawn navy above the black rooftops, stars twinkling in the distance.

Caleb is harder than he ever remembers being. He feels like his skin is throbbing, too small to contain the pulsing desire surging through his veins with each beat of his heart. He bites his lip, trying to look anywhere but his lap.

 _Scheisse_ , he hasn’t felt this way since he was a bloody teenager, susceptible to getting an erection whenever the wind changed. He’s woken so suddenly that his sleep-addled brain is rather slower to remember just what it was that’s awoken him and then, like a lightning bolt or a broad smack from Jester’s massive lollipop, it hits him in flashes of tawdry memory:

_Long-nailed fingers on his skin, callused pads pressing bruises into the yielding flesh of his inner thighs. A devil’s tongue roaming, languid in its exploration of him, followed by gentle nips of sharp teeth in its wake. A smirk bold enough to push for what he wants but red eyes gentle, seeking permission behind the bravado, that perfect middle ground between staking a claim on what he desires and knowing better than to take without asking -_

Caleb curses under his breath, pressing his palms into his eyes until dark colors burst behind his eyelids, before dragging them up into his hair. He thought he had a lid on this - that he had it under control. No messing with the group dynamic, no (further) awkwardness on his part, no mess of feelings. Wanting things - wanting people - rarely ends well for people like him.

But then he has to go and have a wet dream about Mollymauk Tealeaf, because those feelings were not content with being firmly squashed down. Caleb groans, letting his head fall back on his pillow. He is so _fucked_.

Addendum: Every fiber of his being  _wishes_ he were being fucked right now.

There is no good way to rationalize this, he knows. His and Nott’s relationship with the rest of the Nein teeters on shaky ground at times. Mollymauk would never be interested in someone as drab, as horrible as Caleb is. If Mollymauk knew what Caleb has done, he would want nothing to do with him.

That doesn’t stop Caleb from kicking the sheets down, guilt roiling low in his stomach.

He can take care of this, get it out of his system, and go back to sleep, he thinks. He can give into the demands of his body once and never visit the thought again. He can move on with his life. The hour is early enough that he can lie to himself.

He closes his eyes, reaching one hand into his smallclothes to wrap around the base of his dick. He nearly shudders at the touch, oversensitive and shivery. With his eyes closed, it is easier to pretend. That this is okay. That it is someone else’s hand on him, while the other pulls his smallclothes down his hips. That he is not sad and pathetic and desperate enough to wank himself raw thinking about one of his traveling companions.

That, for one moment, he not wretched but desirable. 

Caleb strokes himself slowly, all the while hoping in the back of his mind that Nott doesn’t suddenly come back to their room. He’s achingly hard, can feel his pulse through his own flesh as he lies back and imagines. It’s easy to dip back into the dream state, the colors in his mind’s eye both dim and vivid at once. He can lose himself in imagining the sensations - how Molly’s mouth would feel on him, how he’d sweat and gasp and shake if those hands touched him.

He imagines - _drip of oil, questing fingers, slow press, sliding burn so good, oh, so good_ \- and cants his hips forward. He spreads his legs for the image, wishing he had the time, the privacy to indulge this imagining that he craves viscerally. He hasn’t tried fingers in himself before, and oh, he wishes he could now.

He imagines - _lips, everywhere, thrust of tongue as well as fingers, hot and heady and overwhelming him all at once, hands pulling his legs into place so their hips meet, flush together_ \- and bites his bottom lip to hold in the whimper as he circles the head of his cock with his thumb, feeling ashamed with the knowledge that he’s dripping.

He imagines - _spread open, yielding yielding yielding in quivering stillness, grasping bruises into the cut of Molly’s hips, guiding him in, feeling so hot at the point they’re connected, feeling every breath, every heartbeat_ \- and flies apart with a soft cry, too late to hold it back. He comes all over his fist but continues to stroke, a little faster and rougher, like someone else might, until he’s this side of too sensitive and has to release his softening cock.

For a few minutes all he can do is lie there in silence, body still trembling, eyes shut but ears pricked for any indication of noise - Nott coming back, or shuffling in the hallway of the inn. He hears nothing but the creaks of wood settling and the frantic thumping of his own heart in his ears.

If he keeps his eyes closed against the pre-dawn sky beyond the window he can imagine - how Molly might look at him after fucking him. Like he is something to be desired, instead of something disgusting. He imagines Molly might wipe the both of them clean with a damp cloth and a soft kiss. His heart aches.

He brings his clean hand to his dry lips, feels the scratch of his beard against his palm, and presses an open-mouthed kiss to the center. He imagines until he drifts back to sleep.


End file.
